Beautiful
by Galacticlone
Summary: An unconventional home life, a father who left and a mother who barely knows he exists. Through all the hunger and loneliness he still smiles day after day. Then, a new kid shows up; someone who captivates his attention and draws him out of the dark and back into a warm light he never knew existed in this place. (Requested one-shot).


Hello and thanks for picking up this oneshot! This was a requested piece from someone who follows me on Instagram. A few warnings before we begin; **I'm rating this fic a tentative T for allusions to neglect, physical abuse, and alcohol abuse.** Keef is my least favorite character in the show, so I thought it would be fun to break away from the main massive fic I'm doing right now and challenge myself to write a short one-shot from his perspective! As always, even a small review drop is very much appreciated. Danke schön!

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It happened again. The flip of a switch; no light left to push away the dark. The turn of a lime encrusted faucet; no hot water to wash away the filth. Huh…oh well. Sometimes this happened when his mother went away on her many business trips. She would smile and tell him to be good and stay out of trouble, to lock the door at night and have as much cereal and as many peanut butter sandwiches as he wanted. He didn't mind if it was all half-melted candles to do his homework by at night and stale apple juice when he listened to his long-lost father's 8 tracks alone. In the winter it was freezing, cold biting at tiny fingers, but all he had to do was throw a few extra comforters on his bed and build a blanket fort or two and he would be good to go. But in the spring, it was kind of fun in a way, like _he_ was the man of the house. Everything in his sight was his and he made the rules; he didn't have to fold his socks or wash the dishes if he didn't want to, he could jump on the bed without the threat of being scolded, and he could ride his bike until dusk without being called back to dinner like the others.

_The others._

He watched them from a distance at school, sweaty hands climbing rusted monkey bars and savvy feet balanced in little hopscotch squares. It was fun to watch and, for a while, he was content with only observation and the occasional jeer or snide laugh thrown in his direction. Besides, it was all in good spirits. They didn't mean the hateful things they said…right? He had a few acquaintances he would sit with at lunch and sometimes they would share their milk and the carrot sticks they never ate with him when his mom would forget to leave out his lunch money. Still, through it all, he didn't mind. They were amusing and compassionate, even if they never invited him to their board game meet ups after school. Sure, he didn't know how to play anyway, but it would have been fun to learn. Maybe, if he had been a little kinder, a little friendlier, or helped them cheat on their homework that one time, they would finally include him. He'd seen his mother do it plenty of times; a warm laugh here, a well-timed hug there, and then men would fawn all over her like she was greatest, coolest woman in the world. She had a lot of friends…maybe he could too someday.

Then there was _him_.

One day he just appeared as if he had dropped from the sky, a revolutionary messenger from the heavens…or maybe a monstrous demon sent from hell. The new kid; Zim. He was eccentric, if that was even the right word. Strange? Mental? _Alien_? Nothing could describe him in just the right way, like he was a wisp of smoke constantly changing form but still ruthlessly stinging the lungs of everyone he touched. He did odd things that made the others shy away from him, some out of fear, some out of intimidation, others out of pure revulsion. He was always shouting nonsense, always failing his math tests, always picking fights that he couldn't win but would start regardless with a confidence that seemed boundless. He'd gotten in a few brutal fist fights since he started at their school and every time he would end up on his back, cheek forced against the asphalt but never knowing when to tap out. Teachers would have to come to his aid, pluck him from the hard ground from under his heavy-handed bullies, and hold him back when he would immediately go back on the offensive like a machine. Still, he would swagger back into class the next day like it never even happened, furiously going after whoever had seemingly wronged him with unending passion. Zim never studied, and would always come up short on the end of the month scoresheet for the class; his grades were appalling and everyone took notice, whispering with hushed gossip behind his back and snickers from the sidelines. He was a deadbeat in the making, another jittery, overly inventive kid lost to the cracks of the heartless American school system.

_Is he stupid or something?_

_What a freak…_

_Why doesn't he have any friends?_

He would listen to the lies, intrigued from afar but never able to approach the hyperactive time bomb that had somehow captivated his flighty attention. Before she became so tired, his mother had taught him from a young age what it meant for something to be beautiful. Beauty was fleeting, hard to pin down, and completely different in everyone's eyes. To him, rainbows were beautiful, ribbons of cheerful flowing colors splitting the monotonous blue of the sky. Flowers were beautiful, with their limitless forms and delicate petals he would sometimes see fluttering away into the breeze. Even the hollow, grim city was beautiful with all of its boisterous noise and mishmash of sewage smells and wafting grease from the hundreds of food stands dotting the blocks. He knew beauty and knew it well, all too familiar with the warm feeling it gave him in the pit of his chest. Then, it hit him like a train one afternoon. Something new and strange fluttering in the pit of his stomach. He could remember it clearly like it was yesterday…he had watched Zim lean over the desk of the weird kid in their class, throwing a domineering finger in his face as he hotly countered whatever paranormal accusation he'd been hit with this time. The bravery in his strident voice, the steely glare in his bright eyes, the way he dominated the situation and turned it back in his favor. Zim gave him that same warm feeling. Why? He most certainly wasn't a rainbow or a flower, so why was did he find himself overcome with the tingle of butterflies? Did that mean that Zim was…beautiful?

For the next few weeks he would follow Zim home on his bike from afar, watching when he would disappear through his door and stay holed up for the rest of the day until the next, when he would welcome the brisk morning air and walk alone to school. He didn't like coming out to play and didn't own a bike, not that anyone knew of at least. In fact, he had _never_ seen Zim out and about besides the occasional stroll to the convenience store down the block for disinfectant and waffle mix, or to confront the weird kid when he would show up and yell on his lawn. Sometimes, when he was alone, he could see Zim a few doors down through his window, lights on through all hours of the night as he sat around and reluctantly watched movies with his dog, or fiddled with little projects he couldn't make out from a distance. He would stay up at his dark windowpane until he would see Zim yawn and hop up from his loveseat with a stretch. He would never said goodnight to his parents, and they never seemed to seek him out before he retreated further in into the house by himself…maybe they were like his mother? Maybe they went on long business trips too?

Watching Zim had become a nightly ritual; he would eat a few fruit snacks and crackers for dinner, maybe dig through the thawed freezer for the final bite of melted ice cream he had been saving for weeks, before dry brushing his teeth with baking soda and plopping down in the dark to watch the real-life movie he had come to crave. What was this light, warmhearted feeling? Why did he suddenly feel the need to tune in to what Zim was doing every night and panic when his blinds were drawn? Even the mundane fascinated him, the way Zim would tediously cook for himself, obsessively scrub things clean, chat respectfully with someone on a monitor he couldn't quite see. All of it…yes…there was no mistaking it anymore. Zim _was_ beautiful. He would feel a little wrong eyeing his classmate secretly through the night as if he was a forbidden object, never sure why he kept coming back. But, at the same time, he couldn't help himself from thinking little affectionate things to himself against the cool glass. What would it be like to help Zim study? Maybe his grades would improve if he could give him a little bit of help and a gentle push. What would it be like if he could come over and they could listen to his dad's 8 track tapes together or have a sleepover and build a fort, staying up and laughing for hours by candlelight until they couldn't breathe? He had never had a sleepover, or even had anyone else his age at his house. His mother told him it was wrong, that other people wouldn't understand when their power was off or when all they had to eat was toast. Only her friends were allowed to come over and even then, he had to stay out of the way so they wouldn't yell at him and push him around. He never thought it was fair and he was sure Zim wouldn't care if they had to stay up in his bedroom while his mom worked on business downstairs.

The longer he watched and the weeks droned on, the deeper and more ingrained his thoughts had become. He would write letters to slip into Zim's locker but would only crumple them up when they didn't sound right. What would it feel like to hold Zim's hand? Would his fingers be cold or warm, his grip soft or harsh? Did he even like those sorts of things? Zim didn't have a girlfriend; it was one thing they both shared in common, much to his immediate relief. They both thought girls were gross. Girls had always been gross...but boys were different. Boys were gross in a way that was funny. Would Zim be funny when he got to know him better? Would it be weird if they walked to school together? Zim walked alone anyway, so why was it so hard for him to just go up and ask? The worst he could say was no.

_No_.

The word he had been told his whole life that he had begun to dread. He had heard it so often that he was beginning to deny it as an option, choosing to omit it from his vocabulary as if it was something foreign that he didn't understand. It never left his tongue, never graced his mind until his mother came home, stuck in one of her reoccurring fits of tired frustration and immediately latching on to the first living thing she could find. Then, it was the only word he could think of.

_No, I don't want to go to the store by myself at three in the morning to get asprin._

_No, I don't want to help you clean just so we can find your friend's bottle opener._

_What? The neighbor across the street said I do what? No! No, I don't like boys!_

_No, I promise! He's not even my friend!_

_No! Please don't hit me, Mom!_

_No! No. No…_

He went to school the next day with a wide smile on his face and a sweater to hide the burns splayed over his once perfect skin. He knew in the back of his mind that she didn't mean it. He hadn't washed the dishes or listened to the things she asked him nicely to do before she left. He deserved it for thinking the things he did about Zim when he knew it went against everything his mother had told him not to be…bad kids got punished and he was bad. That was all there was to it. She had apologized in the morning and cried salty tears at the edge of his bed, promising over and over that she would never do it again like the last time, but he knew that she was hurting deep inside and forgave her empty words anyway. Together they had used the last of the Neosporin on the awful pot marks she had left on his arms and she had given him a shaky kiss before he left, reminding him not to roll up his sleeves even though it was nearly eighty degrees. He didn't mind it. She never went deep enough to leave a scar and she had given him enough money this time to stop by the candy store after school. Everything was right again…everything was ok.

Today was different. Zim was on the offensive again, but there was something…off. He was more agitated, nervous even, as he watched the others suspiciously from his lunch table. He observed from afar as usual, succumbing to the same incredible feeling he couldn't seem to drown no matter how hard he tried and basking in the afterglow of every little movement his classmate made. Then, his pulse quickened. Zim pushed up from his table with a grumble of annoyance and threw his hands on his hips, scanning the sea of faces around him for something he couldn't understand. Suddenly, without any warning, he turned on his heel and stalked furiously to his lunch table, looking him in the eye with that callous glare with every heavy step.

He was…he was coming over?! Why? Did he do something to make him mad? Did he say something in passing that irritated him? Oh…oh no. What if he had _noticed_? What if Zim had glanced up across the street in the middle of the night and caught sight of him watching back? What would he say?! How would he explain?! Everything was happening too fast and he was on shaky ground, jumping a bit when Zim slammed his hands down hard on his table. The lunchroom hushed, eyes darted over, chewing ground to a halt.

"I am looking for a…_friend_."

He blinked. Was Zim making fun of him? The others waited with him for a long while, scared to move and rigid where they sat, until Zim piped up again, rocking his world and allowing a wide grin to form on his face through his confusion.

"Which one of you wants the privilege of being friends with Zim?"

It was a dream. This whole thing was a dream; everything he had wished and hoped for finally coming to a head and setting him alight with newfound hope. The gorgeous feeling surged back, coating him in a gooey, delicious warmth from head to toe as he watched Zim back with wide, excited eyes. Maybe…maybe he had a chance. Maybe things could be better for him and he could find peace in this place. He giggled and extended a friendly hand over the table, fighting back the urge to swoon when Zim narrowed his eyes at the gesture.

"Sure buddy!" He chuckled again, feeling the weight of the world falling away from his shoulders. "I'm Keef!"


End file.
